Unscripted. Unedited. Real.
Writing for five minutes.
A sort of writing flash mob.
You say it so many times a day anymore that I have begun to ignore its imperative. I brush your entreaties off so easily, like the swishing away of a fly or an errant hair across my cheek. I don't think I even hear the half of them.
It's that simple.
Stop. Turn. Look.
I used to do that naturally. You were smaller then. So was my world. And the days, the hours, the minutes were filled with that delicate dance of looking and showing and telling. We were all so new back then and so I was sure to miss something if I didn't keep looking.
I'm not sure why I think anything has changed.
Years pass, you grow, we all look different. But there is still so much to show and tell.
And that looking? That urgent desire to have our eyes meet? If I were doing more of it, there would be a lot less asking for it and instead of dancing around each other's gazes we might already be in each other's arms.